


Pills

by actualcoolcat



Series: Recovery comes with Relapses [1]
Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Character Study, Coping, Depression, Gen, Introspection, Medication, POV Second Person, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23816491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualcoolcat/pseuds/actualcoolcat
Summary: The daily schedule of Tim Wright starts how it ends, with little white pills and a desire to forget.
Series: Recovery comes with Relapses [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1751296
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	Pills

**Author's Note:**

> Quarantine has fully set in for me. I wanted to do a small vent fic based off of my own experiences and feelings, but tweaked and inspired by Tim. Enjoy.
> 
> If you want more drabbles involving Tim coping with life, leave a comment below.

_Wake up. Take your pills._

_Go to sleep, take your pills._

_When the alarm on your phone goes off, take your pills._

There’s that other medication you’re supposed to take, but you forget about it most of the time because you can’t really notice a difference. You tell your doctor you don’t really notice a difference. _Keep taking your other pills_ , they say.

When you’re not on your pills, the world gets a little bit stranger. A little more vibrant, a little dimmer. A paradox you can’t articulate when people ask about the white capsules you take. You try not to let other people see you have them. Don’t want to deal with those questions.

You can’t really remember when you started taking your pills. Well, no, that’s a lie. But the memory is foggy. You know it happened, you know you went on a prescription and everything started to feel numb after that. Maybe it’s more accurate to say you don’t remember what you were like before you started taking your pills. You definitely weren’t happy, but you remember the shift. From the intensity of feeling every one of your emotions coursing through your body to feeling null, automatic, incapable of any emote. You’re not sure if you ever got those emotions back.

Things aren’t so bad these days, thanks to the pills. They keep your body in one piece. Keep your mind from playing with the seams of reality, from pulling at the threads and letting chaos overwrite everything. The dark, twisted corners of your consciousness, gasping for the last bit of lucidity before it takes you again, clawing and screaming. You can’t remember what happens after that. You don’t really want to.

You get up for work. On most days, you sleep through the morning into the afternoon. There’s no point in getting up before that, no motivation or external drive to get anything accomplished. You're too tired to get up any earlier, anyway, sleep never coming easily or quickly enough. You can’t remember the last time you saw someone else, last time you really interacted with someone outside of work or the necessary grocery trip. You should go on one of those again, you’re running out of food. Did you remember to eat? You can’t recall, but can’t bring yourself to care, either.

You take your pills.

Work is the same methodical drag. Sitting, crouching, lifting, moving, sitting. You get a fifteen-minute break to smoke a cigarette. You never look out into the woods when you do, never into the night bleeding darkness around you. Your gaze stays solidly on your own scuffed shoes until you’re huffing on the dregs of your third cigarette. You cough. Pulling the pill bottle out of your pocket, you swallow two of the capsules dry. Time to get back to work.

When you’re driving home, the sun is peaking over the horizon. The once foreign, disguised shapes in your peripherals regain their form as harmless trees and farm equipment, their menacing shades cast away until the night sky comes back to drown them out again. You exhale a breath as you drive by long stretches of barren land. You’re coughing again when at the stop light near home.

At home, the small apartment with the beat-up couch, dripping sink, and single bedroom, you pour yourself a bowl of cereal without the milk. Still need to go grocery shopping. Right. After eating you kick off your shoes, peel off the dusty jeans and worn plaid before collapsing on the unmade bed.

When you’re drifting off to sleep, your phone rings, sending a spike of panic through your bones. You jolt up, unlocking the screen just to see it’s the alarm you set earlier. It was time to take your pills. You discard the device on the nightstand, pulling a pill bottle from the drawer. You swallow two pills, twice. Smoke another cigarette. Turn over and finally drift off to sleep.

If you’re lucky, in the morning the routine will be roughly the same. A dull existence of living a non-life as a non-person. Your humanity, emotions, and connections cast off in hopes of a normal, regular, uneventful life. You don’t want to remember. You don’t want to make new memories. You just want to get through the day and move onto the next, an apathetic shell of a person, killed years ago and filling up a walking carcass.

You have a simple schedule, with no deviations if you can help it. Wake up, take a shower, eat some food, take your pills.

You are your pills.


End file.
